by Jen (dragonriderjenner at yahoo.com)
Lestrade settled, her mind carefully blank. She absently
twirled the tack in her right hand, subconsciously releasing some
of her pent up anger. She sighed boredly. The only way she could
get her captor to come to her would be to calm herself.
Experience told her so. And this Yardie-snatcher would just be
Though she was expecting it, the hiss of the door at her left
set her entire body on edge. The tack disappeared into her fist.
A tall man with a confident stride and heavy boots came to her
left side. A pair of gloved hands traced her right fist, and the
string that had been resting under her hip slid away. The gloved
hands gently coaxed her fingers open and Lestrade knew now,
without a doubt, that she was at his mercy. She surrendered her
tack, but frowned. Her mouth opened to speak, but one of the
gloved hands rested a finger against her lips. Her lips came
together, sliding against the soft material of his gloves, and
Lestrade identified them as genuine velvet. The man’s hands left
her and his weight shifted. There was a rustling of cloth and
movement. The man’s velvet-clad hands returned to her right fist,
unraveling her fingers. A cold, wet cloth dabbed against her
injured finger and over her hand. The man clucked his tongue in
amusement and murmured something under his breath. She could
smell him now, as he leant over her to tend her injured finger.
He smelled of soap and sweat and . . .women’s shampoo? and of . .
.bubble gum . . .and of . . .of . . .blackberry jam. What the
hell? He pulled away, but his scent remained. There was another
shift of cloth and his velvet hands came up near her face, then
back around her head. His deft fingers undid the knot (how could
she have not noticed it?) and the blindfold slipped away to
reveal. . . more darkness. There were no lights on in the room to
which she was confined, but light shone in through the open door
behind the man with the bizarre scent. The light formed a
silhouette around his body, but hid his features from view.
Instinct took over and she yanked viciously at the straps binding
her wrists. The man stepped back, surprised, velvet-clad hands
palm forward in a sign of good will and intentions. She bared her
teeth, a growl forming at the base of her throat. Her stomach
beat her to it, growling with startling intensity. Both of the
room’s occupants gazed, surprised, at her midsection. Lestrade
squirmed miserably, face reddening with embarrassment as the man
let out a throaty chuckle. His velvet hands lifted and clapped
once, the sound muffled by his gloves. A smaller man, a misshapen
man stepped into the room. His features were also dark, but he
did not wear the darkness as well as the man with the velvet
gloves. He placed a tray of food on the table next to the bed and
left. Lestrade glanced over at the steaming (steaming!) meal and
noticed a remote control lying on the small bedside table and
glanced up at the man.
He picked up the remote control and pressed a button. The door
slid shut with a hiss. Darkness reigned again. Lestrade heard
another button being pressed and the lights came on. She blinked
several times and looked straight up into the face of the man
with the velvet gloves.
She then had a heart attack from surprise and died. The End.
Well, that was what she thought she would do. Instead, she
whispered, . . .
Holy shit. This was not happening. This was not supposed to
happen. Things like this did not happen. It was against the laws
of physics. Well, not really, but still, things like this did not
happen to people like her. It just wasn’t supposed to happen. It
was wrong. Absolutely, totally, entirely, wholly, fully,
completely, utterly, thoroughly, perfectly wrong. It was so wrong
that Lestrade simply could not wrap her mind around it. So she
sat, slack jawed, and stared at the door he had left through. At
some point in time, she ate the food left for her, and went to
sleep. The straps had turned out to be cuffs and hadn’t been
removed, but somehow he had returned to her use of her arms and
legs. Maybe this was a big, fat, ugly dream and she would wake up
in the morning and go to work and get yelled at by Granny Greyson
and get...ticked...at...Holmes! Yes! Holmes would get her out of
this ugly mess! Yes he would.
But no he wouldn’t, because this was just a dream, and unless her mind had started to
want to dream of him, then he wouldn’t come in like some knight
in shining armor to save her from the evil bad guy. So...what?
Would he come to save her or not? Was she dreaming, or not?
She rolled over, wishing she had another pair of clothes, like
her pajamas, for example. That would be nice.
She sat up suddenly, realization suddenly taking her brain by
surprise and shaking it vigorously. She had been kidnapped! Kidnapped!
By! By! By....
Holmes leaned back in his chair, one arm folding across his
chest and the hand of the other coming to rest over his mouth. He
looked out the window as if searching for someone or something,
willing whatever it was to appear before his window. He
superimposed the image of a red and white cruiser landing
smoothly on the street below and a tall and elegant woman
stepping out, clad in a skintight white uniform. When he blinked,
the image was gone, replaced by the murky grayness of the thick,
polluted New London fog.
He stood abruptly and moved jerkily to the window, his eyes
narrowing in worry. Why was she not here? Why was she late? Not
even Chief Inspector Greyson ever kept her this late. Had she
forgotten? No, she would rather die than forget an appointment
with him. Oh, how he worried. Perhaps she was afraid of him.
Bah!, how ridiculous. Inspector Lestrade feared nothing. Besides,
why would she have any reason to fear him? He had not done
anything to her to make her fear him. At least, not yet. Why was
she not here? With him? Was she, could she be, with another? No.
Holmes shut his eyes tightly and turned from the window. He
stalked to the opposite end of the room, standing before the
wall, his head bowed. A wild fire burned in his chest. She could
not be with another. If she were, he would have noticed it. She
was so easy to read, like an open book. All he had to do was look
at the open pages and she would be revealed to him. That was why
she couldn’t be with another. Also, she was always so fixated
upon him that she would never stray. She would never stray....
The fire in his chest died abruptly and a lingering pain replaced
it. He leaned his forehead against the wall and rested his right palm
against the cool surface.
Why? Why was he so taken with her? What made her so special? Her
intellect was inferior to his and she was as subtle as a sledgehammer
to the groin. Her body was easy on the eyes, but lacking in eye-catching
characteristics and her language was crude and unrefined.
The answer came to him immediately. When she concentrated, her
eyes would glint in /that/ way and her brow would furrow like /that/
and when she was driving, her eyes would glitter with almost-mania and
freedom and when she fought with her fists and feet, her eyes would
harden into impenetrable walls and, and, and.... And she was perfect.
Holmes turned back to the window and leaned his back against
the wall, his eyes far away and a slight smile playing about his lips.
His arms crossed over his chest and he wondered what it would be like
to hold her in his arms.
His lips fell into a frown. If only she were here, she would
have been in his arms by now!
A brick crashed through his bay window, shattering the aged
glass. Holmes managed to shield his face in time and waited until
the sound of tinkling glass had stopped.
Suddenly glad that he was still wearing his shoes, he picked
his way through the shards of glass to the brick that lay innocently
amidst the sharded glass.
Tied to the brick was a black velvet glove.
The DNA of two people was found on the glove.
Inspector Lestrade’s DNA was found on the fingertips with a hint
of her blood.
The rest of the glove was thickly coated with DNA that belonged
to none other than the infamous Mister....
All right. I know these are short chapters, but, like I said, this story has been holding my first story hostage. It demands that I finish it. I probably won't write
another chapter tonight (I do need sleep, y'know), but tomorrow's Friday and Friday = lots of time. Thx for the reviews. They make me feel warm and fuzzy.
And on the swearing bit; I'll try to keep it down to a minimum and only use it a lot in certain situations (ex: Angry and/or confused Lestrade). Other than that,
the other charas will probably only use a cuss every once in a long while. Of course, I can't guarantee that, because I've just started writing the story, but I'll
try stick to those rules. Bye bye and GOOD NIGHT.
Ooooooooooone more thing before I klonk out at my computer desk.
About the brick being hurled through the window thing.
That wasn't really intentional. It was the first thing that came to mind.
That window is just so convenient.
Maybe I'll make it some kind of trademark theme.
TO BE CONTINUED
Back to part 1
Back to the Fanfic index